HIPPODROMANIA ? 



The breed of his dam is a myth unknown, 

 And we've doubts respecting his sire. 



Yet few (if any) those proud names are 

 On the pages of peerage or stud, 



In whose 'scutcheon lurks no sinister bar. 

 No taint of the base black blood. 



Aye, Shorthouse, laugh — laugh loud and long, 



For pedigree you're a sticker ; 

 You may be right, I may be wrong, 



Wiseacres both ! Let's liquor. 

 Our common descent we may each recall 



To a lady of old caught tripping, 

 The fair one in fig leaves, who d d us all 



For a bite at a golden pippin. 



When first on this rocky ledge I lay, 

 There was scarce a ripple in yonder bay, 



The air was serenely still ; 

 Each column that sailed from my swarthy clay 

 Hung loitering long ere it passed away, 

 Though the skies wore a tinge of leaden grey. 



And the atmosphere was chill. 



But the red sun sank to its evening shroud, 



Where the western billows are roll'd 



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